Band Night 1977

The band room had burned during my ninth grade year. On top of that the uniforms we were wearing had been purchased in the 1950’s. The football team got two sets of new uniforms every year. What few uniforms we had that survived the fire were falling apart. This year the school board finally authorized the purchase of new uniforms.

See Falling Bells

The old band room had been repaired. New school instruments had been purchased (except the tubas which were reconditioned but not done right). The new uniforms were ordered well in advance. They were set to be delivered in time for the first football game. But they did not show up. 

My mother and Joyce Jarrard stitched and sewed the old uniforms back together as best anyone could and got us into some semblance of being presentable. The first game came and went, no new uniforms. Then the second and the third. Band night was the next to the last game to be played that year.

Papa was always a little hyper and often flipped his lid when things didn't quite go his way. Sometimes this was embarrassing. Most of the time it was cool. Usually he got his way. . 

Papa got on the phone and yelled and threatened lawsuits. The company put the uniforms on an Eastern Airlines Jet and had them flown in. The only problem was that they did not have the breast pocket on them that had the name of the high school (Crescent High School). My mother, Merle McClendon, and another band mother, Joyce Jarrard had to sew all these pockets on. They worked around the clock to get these pockets sewn on the coats.

The day of the band night football game Mom (also now known as Nana) and Joyce Jarrard worked to get everyone outfitted in the new uniforms. We marched out for the pre-game playing of the Star Spangled Banner and the crowd cheered the new uniforms.

Since we had a special show planned and since it was band night we had asked for a half time extension. By taking the half time extension the Crescent football team would have to take a fifteen yard penalty after the half time. Everyone agreed to the extension so that the opposing team's (Saluda High School) band could also perform during the half time.

The Saluda High band marched out and performed perfectly. The Crescent band lined up on the side of the field and was ready to take our places as soon as the Saluda band finished their performance. Just before time for us to take the field the band director, Mr. Johnson, came and told us that we would not perform that night.

As it turns out since the home team was running behind in a very close game the head coach had decided not to allow the half time extension and not to take the fifteen yard penalty. Mr. Johnson had us take our instruments and put them up. The Saluda Band also put away their instruments in support for us. There was no music performed during the second half of that football game. The Saluda band members expressed their disbelief and shock by telling the Crescent band members how crappy that was for us not to get to perform on our own band night.

Papa was upset. He grabbed the head coach and chewed him up one side and down the other. He really let this man have it. He insulted him in every way he could and told him how he was going to contact the district and demand they fire him and all his staff the next morning. As a merchant in the community, a prominent member of the community and big contributor to the school's athletic program this was a credible threat. The problem was the man he thought was the head coach was really an assistant coach.

My father and several other band parents “expressed their concerns” to every school board member as well as to the superintendent, the principal and everyone else they could find. The end result was that for the next football game, which was the last home football game of that year, we got to have the whole half time for our performance. It wasn't the same.

Baseball Been Very Good to Me

Baseball’s Been Very Very Good To Me.

The title of this comes from a skit I saw what seems like a hundred years ago on Saturday

Night Live. At least I think that is where I saw it. I have been watching the College World Series this week and enjoying it. In some of the games I did not have a dog in the fight. But in the final games I definitely have a dog in the fight. I am a Carolina Gamecock through and through.

I love the SEC and any sport attached to it. There is just something about the spirit of SEC athletics. It is a whole different feel.  

I root for the Gamecocks not matter who they play. I went to Carolina and I was a guard in the Carolina football locker room during the year of Black Magic. Wow, what a year. 

Good guys wear black. The whole black magic idea came about when the coaches started wearing black shirts. They needed some type of gimmick to get everyone motivated after the dismal year they had before under Coach Bell. 

I remember at the start of the Clemson game that year when the team practiced in their

all garnet uniforms. Then, they came back into the locker room and changed to all black uniforms. The stands came alive when the team ran back out onto the field in the brand new all black uniforms. 

When Cocky changed his uniform from garnet to black, I thought the stadium would fall down from all the ruckus raised by the Carolina fans.


I root for Clemson whenever they play anyone that is not Carolina and I root for Georgia whenever they play anyone that is not Carolina or Clemson.

Back to baseball, I had forgotten all my past with baseball and had come to feel, as my friend David Bundy pointed out, that it was about as entertaining as watching paint dry. Watching the CWS has reminded me of my baseball past.

My father had always wanted me to be an athlete. He played baseball and football in high school and he went to college on a football scholarship.  I remember when I was about four years old he bought me a ball, bat, and glove and he started pitching balls to me. He threw very hard and it hurt every time I caught the ball.

My father thought I should go out for baseball and football, too. I wasn’t asked if I wanted to sign up; they just signed me up. So, I was drafted onto a team called the Bice Standard Yankees. Later that year, Bice Standard became Bice Gulf when they switched what type of gas they sold down to the fillin’ station.

The deal with the team was that everyone got to play at least one whole inning in each game. I was put in right field. I think the thinking was that in little league the likelihood that anyone would hit to right field was incredibly remote. 

I was not good enough to play infield so I was put in the outfield.  On one of the rare occasions they moved me to left field, I was standing out there when a fly ball was hit to, you guessed it, left field. 

The one thing I learned is that I cannot see a ball that is coming down towards me from above. I was hit squarely on the forehead and was knocked out. I woke up with coaches all around.

I remember that my father bought me a pitch back. This is sort of a trampoline/net that you threw the ball at and it pitched it back. I practiced with it a good bit.

Another great thing I remember about baseball is watching the Atlanta Braves play. My father took me to a few of the games and my Uncle Carl took me to one of them. 

It was great. At that time, the Braves played at Fulton County Stadium which was near my father’s and Uncle’s office. At the stadium, they sold great hot dogs. 

I remember the “Official Hot Dog” of the Atlanta Braves was Oscar Mayer. The official mustard was Gulden’s Spicy Brown Mustard. And these things were expensive, too. It would cost 10¢ to buy a hot dog at the stadium. Boy that was a long time ago.


When we moved to Spartanburg I was on the Mr. Zip team. Mr. Zip was a chain of convenience stores in the Spartanburg County area. I had a good time on the team. But, I was never very good.


In our neighborhood in Spartanburg, we would get together and play what we called baseball. We would have a pitcher, a catcher, and whatever other players we could get together. 

The catcher would act as the home plate umpire and somehow every pitch was a strike. You got as many pitches as it took to hit the ball. You could swing till you hit or had to go home, whichever came first.

I never tried out for the team in middle school or high school. I never really thought about it. I do remember watching the Brave’s games with my father. 

I also remember watching the games on TBS while on call at the fire stations in Spartanburg County when I was in college at the University of South Carolina in Spartanburg.

I remember we had to take PE in the ninth grade of high school. I was just getting over having been in a diabetic coma during the summer and was not very good. 

I do remember that I could hit just about every ball that got near the plate. The problem was I could not hit it very far. When I did hit it, the ball went directly back to Couch Clark, who was pitching.

Now, I am enjoying watching the game again. I look forward to watching the final games this next week. See you there.

Read My Child-Bride Suzanne's Blog

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